


In the Service of His Queen

by firesign



Series: To Serve a Dragon Queen [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Beating, Bottom Jon Snow, Daenerys has Jon punished, Daenerys has Jon spanked, F/M, Fix-It, Is that what lords do their ladies in the south, Jon Snow gets spanked, Jon Snow loves giving oral, Jorah Beats Jon, No Mad Queen Daenerys, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Queen Daenerys, Smut, Spanking, Top Daenerys, mild orgasm denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 03:02:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18885856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign/pseuds/firesign
Summary: A one-off, fix-it smut for episode 8.5, featuring only the scene where Jon goes to Dany in her chambers--no battle here, just Jon facing punishment for his misdeeds. Then sex.“You’re going to beat me?”“No,” she said. “Jorah is going to beat you. Are you afraid of the whip, Jon Snow?”His brow furrowed in confusion. “No—no, your Grace.”******************************************************************************************************************************





	In the Service of His Queen

"What did I say would happen if you told your sister?"

"I don't want it," Jon said. Begging her to understand.

Her consort was standing before her with his chin lowered, his arms folded behind his back, a proper posture for penance. He was beautiful in the firelight, his face warm, his hair shining, the cuts and bruises on his face only just beginning to heal. He had fought bravely in the battle, as always, though in the end it had been his sister to defeat the Night King. How happy they had all been—how they had celebrated. Daenerys had felt on fire from within, lit up with their victory, that much closer, now, to her rightful seat on the Iron Throne. When she and Jon had made love the next night, after the battle, it had been first hot and furious, the bloodlust still pounding through their veins, but had quickly turned slow, and tender, each of them overcome with that moment—the beauty of finding eachother, against all odds, alive.

Then Jon had done what she’d asked him not to do. Then her lover had betrayed her.

"You said I was your Queen--"

"You are--" his voice thick with emotion.

"You swore your sword to me--"

"Dany, it's yours--"

"That's your Queen you're addressing," came Jorah's voice from the shadows. "You'd do well to show a bit more respect."

Daenerys watched Jon's face as he realized that Jorah and Tyrion were in the shadows behind her, an audience, observing. His eyes moved from them back to her face.

"My sword is yours, Your Grace," Jon said. "And my life, if necessary."

"But not your word?" she said, her reply sharp, her face stoic. "Is it not your habit to obey your Queen?"

The muscles of his throat flexed. Daenerys longed to kiss that flesh and to bite into it equally, to rake her claws across, marking him hers. To love him. To punish him. 

He made no reply.

"What?" she pressed. "Tell me, Jon Snow. Do you not speak when your Queen addresses you? Do you not even obey her orders--"

"It wasn't an order," Jon interrupted, a pleading in his voice. Begging her with his eyes, dark on hers, to understand. "Your Grace, forgive me. If you had ordered me to keep silent, I would have. But you didn't. You asked."

So this was his logic. Jon Snow and his honor. He valued it sometimes above reason. Above love. "I begged," Dany corrected, breaking her stoic façade as her anger got the better of her. "If it was an order, I would have been forcing you to choose me. Instead, I asked you to choose me. And you didn't."

Jon met her eyes and he was in distress, that much was clear. The realization of how he hurt her, the anguish of that showed on his face. 

"Daenerys," he said, moving forward, going to his knee in front of her, placing his hand on her thigh. She was shocked into silence that he would dare, now. Jorah moved forward, but Dany held up her hand, stopping him. "You are my Queen. Nothing will change that. I pledge to you my sword, my word, my life. Please forgive me. You were right. It was a mistake to tell Sansa."

"You failed me."

"Yes," Jon said adamantly. "I failed you. Tell me how I can redeem myself to you.”

“Why do you seek such redemption? Because it’s best for your people?”

Jon’s head came up, meeting her eyes. “Because I love you."

"As a subject loves his queen?”

“Aye, as a subject loves his queen. But also as a man loves a woman.” His eyes flickered to Jorah. Good. Let him fear her knight’s jealousy, his wrath. Let him see how many did love her—Tyrion, Jorah, Grey Worm, the remaining Dothraki and Unsullied—how many of her men were restless with the desire to cut him down for his betrayal.

“You have betrayed your Queen, Jon Snow,” Daenerys said. “And for this, you must be punished.”

Jon withdrew his hand from her thigh and lowered his gaze, bowing his head. Supplicating himself before her. “You’re right, of course, Your Grace,” he said. “I await your justice.”

“And you will accept my punishment?” she said. “No matter what it is? Should I have you exiled, should I have you executed—you will submit?”

“Aye, Your Grace,” he said, the knob in his throat bobbing, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll submit to whatever is necessary to restore me to your honor.”

“Very well,” Daenerys said. She paused, watching him, his bowed head, the way he kneeled before her, awaiting her judgement. Drawing out the moment, making him worry. Then, she spoke slowly, clearly:

“Take off your clothes.”

“Your Grace?” his head bobbed up, his eyes confused. Was he thinking of Cersei, perhaps? The story they’d heard of her being forced to march naked through the streets of King’s Landing? Did he think she would parade him naked through Winterfell? The idea was not wholly displeasing. Then she raised her chin and Jorah stepped forward into the light. In his hands was a thick leather belt.

“You’re going to beat me?”

“No,” she said. “Jorah is going to beat you. Are you afraid of the whip, Jon Snow?”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “No—no, your Grace.”

“Was it not Ned Stark’s practice to take the strap to his sons when necessary?” Tyrion said, stepping forward from the shadows to speak. “I even witnessed it once, if I’m not mistaken. You, Robb, and Theon. Three pretty arses turned from pale as snow to red as wine.”

“Aye, it was,” Jon said. “Though I earned it less than Robb, and Theon. But that’s just it—it’s a punishment for boys.”

“You’re right,” Tyrion said. “Men obey their queens. A fitting punishment, then, do you not agree, upon reflection?” 

His cheeks flushed, but he nodded. He had given his word to his Queen, he would not go back now. Not for something so inconsequential as a few bites of the strap. “Aye, my Lord Hand. I agree. A fitting punishment for my misdeeds. I submit to it.”

“Good,” Daenerys said. “Now rise, and take. Off. Your clothes.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jon said, and with a single apprehensive glance at Jorah, he obeyed. He rose to his feet and reached down, unbuckling his baldric from around his waist. He placed the belt and Longclaw in its scabbard on the table next to him. Then he removed his armored cuffs from his forearms, undoing the laces hastily, pulling them off, letting them drop. The room was silent, watching his disrobing. Jon glanced at Dany. Her face was impassive. He forced himself to carry on, hurrying now. Next came his gambeson, which had to be pulled off over his head. Daenerys watched, enjoying the sight of him in his overshirt and leather breeches. He took the overshirt off first, and then his boots, and then began to work at the laces of his breeches.

“You want just my arse bared or would you like to see all of me, Your Grace?” he said wryly, an attempt at bravado, trying to mask his humiliation. He was surprised to hear his own tone. Was he really so bothered over a bit of nudity and a few strokes of the belt?

“Watch your tongue, Snow,” Daenerys answered, raising her eyebrows mildly. “I told you to take them all off, didn’t I?”

“Yes your Grace,” Jon replied, trying to regain a bit of his dignity. Looking at Dany, he remembered that he did have an effect on her. He wasn’t blind to that. He locked his eyes on hers and then began to make a show of it—undressing slowly, taking his time, pushing his breeches slowly down from his hips. He watched the muscles in her throat jump as his pants and underthings fell to the floor. Then he took his undershirt and raised it slowly over his head. Revealing himself to her.

Daenerys took in the sight of her consort, naked in the firelight. His beauty was undeniable. Jorah and Tyrion at her sides, she let her eyes roam over the deep bruises on his chest, and arms, nearly black, the gash on his side, where there was a split in his battle armor, beginning to heal. His taut abdomen glimmered in the light, the muscles strongly defined. Then she let her gaze drop down, to the dark thatch of hair between his legs, and was surprised, and pleased, to see that his cock was not soft, but was indeed perking to life. Jon folded his hands behind his back and made no attempt to hide himself. So some part of him does not hate this after all, Dany thought to herself. She quirked one eyebrow at him archly. His gaze remained solemn, accepting her amusement, awaiting his punishment.

“Ser Jorah,” she said.

Her dear knight stepped forward. “Bend over, Snow. Across the table there.”

“Yes Ser,” Jon answered, his eyes still on Dany, and then moved to obey. He went to the lacquered table and bent across it, bracing himself on his palms, offering his arse up for his Queen’s punishment.

“Jon Snow,” Dany said. “I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of my name, do sentence you to punishment with the strap as a penance for your failure to me. Do you submit?”

“Aye, your Grace,” Jon said roughly.

“Ser Jorah, see that you restrict yourself to his seat. I don’t want him hurt anywhere that might effect him in battle.”

“Yes Khaleesi,” Jorah said. There was only a moments pause, and then Jorah drew back the strap and let it loose, bringing it down hard against Jon Snow’s pale backside. Daenerys watched from her seat by the fire. Jon’s body rocked forward with the impact, but he was silent. Jorah strapped him again, the belt hissing in the air before smacking across her consort’s flesh. Again, Jon took the blow silently. Jorah took up a rhythm now, strapping Jon Snow with the belt again, and again, and again. On the sixth blow, the sound of it unsettled Dany, and she barely held back a flinch. Tyrion glanced at her. Dany ignored it.

Jon held himself silently as possible, although the pain of the blows surprised him. He hadn’t remembered a strapping being so painful; perhaps they hadn’t been, when he was submitting to Ned instead of Ser Jorah. He was determined not to show his pain in front of any of them—not Tyrion, not Jorah, but especially not to Daenerys—but as Jorah worked, he increased the intensity and the speed of the beating, until Jon heard himself panting heavily. He couldn’t believe his reaction. How many times had he ridden into battle, and he was going to be undone by this? He clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists, determined not to show how much pain the strap was beginning to cause him.

Jorah was strapping him hard, and fast. At last, Dany drew her breath in slowly, squirming a little in her seat. “Your Grace,” Tyrion said quietly. “A harsh punishment is required.”

Dany nodded, keeping her eyes on Jon. When Jorah strapped him for what must have been close to the 30th time, it at last became too much. Jon grunted on the impact of the belt, and then, on the next, a low groan escaped his mouth. Jon tried to bite it back, but it was too late. Everyone had heard it. Despite his shame, he grunted again. 

“Is it painful, Lord Snow?” Dany said.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jon groaned, his body rocking forward with the impact. “Hmmm!” he moaned.

“Shouldn’t it be?”

“Yes, my Queen—mmmmm!” another groan. He was trembling all over now, the skin on his arse deep, deep red. “It should.”

“You heard him, Ser Jorah,” Dany said. “Harder.”

“Yes, Khaleesi,” Jorah said, and brought the belt down across Jon’s arse with all his strength. Jon cried out in pain and went sprawling forward, his arms going out from under him, onto his chest. The humiliation of it brought tears pricking to his eyes. Determined, he held them back. He folded his arms behind his back and laid there, his chest to the table, his arse bared for all to see, taking his strapping from Jorah. The strapping went on, and on, and on, until Jon was holding back screams, and tears. The belt smacked into him again, and again, and Jon panted, and squirmed, and took one stroke that sent him up onto his toes. But he didn’t fight. He didn’t try to stand. He forced himself to stay there, to take his punishment. He had given Dany his word, to submit to her. So submit he would.

Dany watched Jorah beat her consort, her lover, the Warden of the North, until he was glistening all over with sweat, trembling with the pain, but holding himself in his position, forcing himself to submit to this punishment. Jon Snow and his honor. How long would he force himself to submit to this? she wondered. Probably until it killed him, if she asked. Jorah slammed the belt down onto Jon’s backside, the SMACK ringing throughout the chamber, and Jon groaned, turning his head away from her, pressing his forehead into the table. She knew the pain must be ten times worse than he was letting on. She raised her hand. “Enough, Ser Jorah. Thank you.”

Jorah, panting from the work of punishing Jon, let the belt drop to his side, nodding. “Khaleesi,” he said, stepping back.

Jon panted, but remained in position, trembling, the light glinting off his pale legs, his dark red backside, his pale back. “Stay as you are, Jon Snow,” Dany commanded. Turning to Tyrion, she said, “Leave us.”

Tyrion and Jorah gave their bows and left the chambers, leaving their Queen alone with her lover.

Dany watched him, silently, as he panted, recovering. He remained as he was, as she had commanded, bent over the table with his hands folded behind his back. He turned his face to her, watching. A long moment passed. Then she stood, and went to him, walked slowly and deliberately to his bare end. Up close it was clear how hard the strapping had been, his entire backside was covered in deep red and purple welts, in some places already bruising, a few pricks of blood here and there. She placed her hands on him, one on each globe of hot flesh. Not too tenderly. He drew his breath in sharply, from pain or arousal, she couldn’t be sure. 

“You took your punishment well, Jon Snow.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” he said, respectfully. Then, letting emotion creep into his voice, he said gutturally, “I am yours.”

“Hmmm,” Dany said, non-commitally. “So you have said before. And yet, you betrayed me.”

“Aye, and I took my punishment for it, didn’t I?”

“And would you take more, if I required it?” she asked, letting her hand sink into the cleft of his buttocks, feeling him somehow tense and soften at once.

“Dany,” he said, dropping the formalities now that they were alone. “You know I would.”

Dany removed her hands from his arse and began to undo the laces of her gown. Jon couldn’t see her, she let him lie there, waiting. Silently she let one piece of her wardrobe fall to the ground, and then another, until she was fully unclothed, watching him, taking his muscular form, his punishment.

She ran her hand gently up and down the length of his cleft, and then grabbed his buttocks hard, claiming him, squeezing her fingers in. He sucked in air. “You have paid the price for your betrayal,” she said. “But you have not yet earned back your Queen’s trust.”

“Please let me, Dany,” he panted. “Tell me how. Mmmmm,” he groaned, and she gently thumbed near his hole.

“Trust takes time,” Dany said. “If you want to earn mine back, you must show me not just that you will submit one time, here when we’re alone, but that you will submit to my orders again and again, whenever—and wherever—I require it of you.” She drew back her hand and slapped his arse, spanking him. He thrust backwards, toward her, aching for her.

“You want to beat me again? I will submit, my Queen. I swear it.”

“And should I ask you to submit, say, in the dining hall? With your sisters and brothers in arms around you? Will you submit to me there?”

Jon shuddered. The thought both tantalized and terrified him. But he had given his word. Daenerys was his queen.

And he loved her.

“Yes, my Queen,” he said, a little plea of desperation, of need, in his voice.

“And the next time we hold audience with the northern lords? Should I order you to submit to the belt then, in front of them all—would you?” she drove her fingernails into his hot, punished flesh with the question.

Jon groaned, a sound of pleasure and pain, humiliation and want. “I will, my Queen. I swear it. I won’t betray you again.”

“Whatever I ask?”

“Whatever you ask,” Jon said.

“This is how we will show the North that you obey your Queen. This is how you will set your example.”

Jon swallowed thickly. The thought of having to strip and bend to the belt before those who had named him King of the North was almost too much to bear. But he had pledged himself to Dany. He had pledged to obey. And he loved her.

“Aye, my Queen. I will obey you. Any place, at any time.”

“Good,” she said, and then she pressed her body into his, letting him feel her naked flesh. Her mound went into his hot, beaten arse, the tips of her breasts pressing into his back. Jon let out a long, low, groan, full of need, and pushed back into her, pressing his arse into her pubis, grinding. She let him for a moment, her eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. Then she pulled back, spanked him once, twice, his body jerking, and then again pressed her thumb to his opening.

“Dany,” he moaned.

“Do you not enjoy it?” she asked, pressing in further.

“No, my Queen. I enjoy it. Very much.”

She worked her finger there a moment more, and then raked her fingernails down his back and across the skin of his arse.

"Kiss me like a consort does,” she said, and Jon nearly leapt up, pushing up on his strong arms, spinning, and then falling to his knees before her. Both of his hands wrapped around her backside, digging into her buttocks, and he drew her into him, opening his mouth to suckle at her folds. Dany’s eyes rolled back in her head and she dug her hands into Jon’s hair, holding on for dear life. Daario had sometimes kissed her down there, but never like Jon did it, never with the same hunger. He lapped at her, using the flat of his tongue, and then kissed with his lips, sucking her in needily, and then lapped again. Dany heard a long, low groan escape from her mouth, and then a desperate gasp, as Jon’s tongue worked her most sensitive place and sent electric jolts buzzing throughout her whole body.

“My queen,” he moaned, pulling back, digging his fingers hungrily into the flesh of her buttocks. Then, somehow—she wasn’t sure how he managed it—he frantically grasped one of her legs, slinging it over his shoulder—she swayed forward into him—and then he placed his hands beneath her seat and lifted, rising seamlessly to his feet, with his great strength. Lifted her with one of her legs dangling over him and his face still between her legs, as if she was weightless. She towered over him, holding on to his hair, as he lapped at her opening with her above him like that for a moment and then turned and laid her gently, effortlessly, down upon the table, on the same place he’d bent to take his beating.

Dany sprawled beneath him now, he pulled back to examine her. “Are you cold?”

“No,” she panted. Then he looked at the hard wood of the table and bent, picking up her soft fur overcoat. Cradling one hand behind her head, he drew her up, and then settled the soft furs beneath her. Wrapping her arms around his neck she lifted her buttocks so that he was able to place the furs beneath the entire length of her. Then, gazing straight into her eyes, he laid her gently back down. Dany gazed at him adoringly, and then her eyes went down to his cock, which was huge and straining forward, hungry for her.

“Did you like your punishment tonight, Jon Snow?”

Looking at her, unashamed, a little smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “You know I did, Dany.”

Suddenly Dany sat up, grabbed his jaw with one hand, and pressed her face to his, taking his lower lip between his teeth and biting it, hard. He allowed it, letting out a moan. She pulled back.

“If you want to be beaten again, see that you ask me. The next time you betray me will be your last,” she growled.

“No Your Grace,” he swore. “Never.”

Dany nodded, and then laid back down, and her lover drove his face into her parting, drawing one leg, and then the other, up over his shoulders so that they rested along his strong back. Jon devoted himself to her pleasure, lapping and suckling and pressing himself into her for pressure, until Dany’s gasps grew into yelps, and then her yelps grew into screams, and Jon felt that all of Winterfell was going to hear the sound of his Queen’s pleasure, and know it was him giving it to her, which made his cock swell almost painfully with pride. Dany thrust her fingers into his hair and gripped hard, jerking him into her, the pain of her pulling on his scalp driving him wild. His cock aching, he hungrily finished her, greedily, Daenerys screaming and shuddering and then at last, collapsing into panting gasps, sated, releasing her grip on his curls, and he blew cool air onto her partings, which made her shudder further, and moan, with pleasure close to pain. 

Jon lowered himself onto the table next to her as his queen caught her breath, regained herself, letting her enjoy her pleasure. Enjoying the knowledge that he had given it to her. He ran his fingers lightly up and down the length of her, watching her silver hair gleam in the firelight, her body coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

“Have I satisfied you, Your Grace?”

Dany let out a long “Mmmmm,” of affirmation. At last she turned to him, taking in the sight of him, his cock full and throbbing with want. She palmed it for a moment, stroking it once, thumbing the sensitive tip, and then released it. “You have. Now go and kneel by the fire while I decide whether you deserve to have me finish you tonight or not.”

Jon let out a low moan, squirming with desire, her power over him sending him nearly dizzy with want. “Yes, Daenerys,” he whispered in her ear, and went to obey. He folded himself to his knees on the fur rug before the fire, folding his hands behind his back, his cock jutting forward eagerly, and waited. 

He would serve his lover, his queen.

In whatever way she’d want.


End file.
